Bellatrix's Great Adventure
by MissEgypt111
Summary: This one's for the sicker people out there. My slightly unorthodox sense of humor and I weave a tale of madness as Bellatrix wanders around Surrey, searching for the meaning of life.


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Bellatrix's Great Adventure

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Author's Note: You have a right to be upset if you feel the need. Just know that I won't care.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ has nothing to do with me, and I've nothing to do with _Harry Potter_. I apologize for the mentions of various songs and product names. I'm innocent, I swear.

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Chapter One: The Sweatiest Goldfish in All of Britain

Bellatrix stretched lazily and took another sip of warm urine from the styrofoam cup to her right. Business was exceptionally slower than usual within The Dirty Transvestite, a store that sold Skinless Ass Salamanders (salamanders that did in fact lack skin and were intending to shove themselves up the nearest person's asscheeks the moment their wrapping was removed), Testosterone Limes (pieces of juicy fruit that men somehow found amusing to thrust into their jockstraps), and Golden Marijuana (weed meant for consumption by those whose genitalia had been lost to some unfortunate smelting accident or another). 

Bellatrix suddenly jerked her head up to study the one who had just entered her lonely retail shop. He had to be the sexiest man she had ever known... His pants reeked of lemon, his hair had to have been purchased in Japan, and there was no way he'd been man-whoring for less than twelve hours. His eyes were a brilliant orange and his nosehairs, dyed black, hung to the floor and swayed every time he took a step. The platform boots he wore were made of black leather and obviously tailored in Spain, the belt around his torso was emblazoned with a pattern of citrus fruit, and the pink blouse he jiggled into earlier that morning said, "I AM A WALKING 'VIRGIN' MARGARITA." The blue socks on his feet (there were slits in his boots that allowed viewing of foot garments) appeared to be horribly stained with what could only be feces. Well, Bellatrix supposed it could have been coffee too, but she knew there was nothing worse than getting your hopes up when it was probably the case that the man was a poop-smear-thing.

Bellatrix flung herself over the counter and tackled the newcomer, who had barely begun to study a pair of "Ass Implants for the Socially Impaired." He allowed a strangled cry and Bella spat into each of his eyes. Her spit, you see, contained venom, and Bella loved nothing more than to spit into the eyes of her lovers, which might explain why she spent so much of her time in court or in prison or on the run or in this little shop right now, working under the name of "Boing Boing." Then again, her known status as one of Voldemort's favorite Death Eaters may have something to do with her prison visits.

"CRAP ON MY TORTOISE!" screamed the man indignantly, head aching from the collision with the paved floor. Like Hot Topic, understand, the floor of The Dirty Transvestite was black pavement and often a good spot to lick things.

Bella allowed the man to sit up. The moment he did so, she tore off his shirt and punched him in the face. Dragging his unconscious form into the nearest library, she dressed him in a casual loincloth and threw him back onto the streets, where he was promptly gang raped by a horde of horny old women who never underwent menopause. Chuckling to herself, Bella was suddenly reminded somehow of her absence from work, and, unwilling to be fired AGAIN, stormed back up 19th St. to make love to a goldfish quickly before resuming her post behind the counter of The Dirty Transvestite.

The goldfish on Privet Drive were the sweatiest in all of Britain. Uncle Vernon poured himself another glass of vodka and took an enormous swig that made Aunt Petunia French kiss a bar stool after she shit herself simply because she could. Dudley was outside in the backyard, thinking hard about how he'd hide the fact that he had gotten pregnant with Piers Polkiss from his parents. Dudley had opted to do a sex change over the Christmas holiday without his family's knowledge, but resolved himself to taking testosterone to keep looking his usual self.

Harry was in the second bedroom, nestled comfortably in his school trunk, having found it a pleasurable place to rest. With every inhaling breath he took, he whiffed the delightful odor of limes. He suspected that someone had put a suspicious stash of limes in his underpants, possibly with the intentions of poisoning him somehow...but really, who wanted him dead? He knew immediately who it had to be. Bellatrix Lestrange, or her man-whore Voldemort. Harry sat bolt upright and began eating his underpants with the skill of a golfer, his scar burning with desire.

Bella stalked along the hedges, eyes darting from side to side so as not to be caught by anyone sneaking a look out of their windows. Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, however, hunching in the middle of the road. "DEAR GOD, NOT AGAIN!!!" With a great ripping noise, Bella's ass exploded into several slimy brown slivers resembling fecal units and she gave a blood curdling scream that sounded cleverly like Britney Spears butt-screwing a porpoise. Yes, Britney does have a certain appendage with which to do that kind of thing. 

"What the herpes?" muttered Harry, scrambling to his feet and looking out the window to find Bella writhing in a sea of her own shit. "Oh well...I guess the Dursleys' postman must have been given a hickey again. Yes, that has to be it..." Mumbling senselessly, Harry curled up again in his school trunk to sleep away the rest of the afternoon, for he had been doing little else during the whole summer.

Bellatrix straightened up in the street, breathing like a winded circus clown, glancing around herself. She assumed her shit attack had gone, and sure enough...a few bratwursts slid prodigiously down her leg and hit the pavement with a vaguely satisfying plop and announced the end of the eruption. She dusted herself off and continued glancing furtively along the street and dove weirdly into the hedgerows, crawling into the Dursleys' backyard where the sweatiest fish in all of Britain were helmed.

Dudley, seven months pregnant with Piers, gave a startled movement when a tall, shit-strewn woman with sweeping black hair and angry, heavy-lidded eyes straightened up as she crawled out of his hedge. He felt his baby slap against his lungs (the doctors screwed up and gave Dudley an ill-placed uterus) as he sprung to his feet and stared wildly at the intruder.

Bellatrix was ready. "_Bees, bees, what's it gonna be_?" she shrieked. A burst of green light emitted from the tip of her wand and flung itself down Dudley's throat before he could holler for his mother, who was currently drunk and in the process of smearing cottage cheese all over her husband's flabby chest of kiwi.

Dudley staggered and fell down. He looked down at his sagging, rotund body. He knew, with a lurch of horror, that he was no longer going to give birth to a human child two months later, but rather a giant bumblebee who would probably become Dudley's Mexican plaything later in life. He burst into giant, wailing sobs that his drunken parents did not answer to.

Bella practically leaped over the fallen mass of Dudley Dursley in order to reach the sordid goldfish pond. She knelt at the edge of the pond and began singing sweetly, "Come little chitlins, I'll lick you on stage, into my lard room of magic...Come little chitlins, I'll make you all stay, inside my lard room of madness.." Within seconds, the many goldfish in the pond rose to the surface to meet their enchantress.

Harry woke suddenly yet again, only this time, it was to the sounds of various people screaming. He recognized all of their voices, but found himself disturbed by the contents of their shouts.

"MY BABY IS A BUMBLEBEE!!! I'VE DONE THE DIRTY WITH PIERS, AND HE THINKS I'M CARRYING HIS CHILD, AND OH WHAT WILL HE SAY WHEN HE FINDS OUT I'M GOING TO BEAR HIS _BEE_?!" That was Dudley.

Harry snorted. That was sick, whatever it was.

"MORE COTTAGE CHEESE, DARLING, LATHER IT UP!!!" Even worse, that was Uncle Vernon. Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to understand that one, although he had a disgusting idea what it might be referring to.

"JIMMY BUFFET IS THE DAMN BLUE WHALE OF SURREY!!" cackled Aunt Petunia. This pronouncement was followed by a series of giggles and scrapes and she apparently slid off her chair. "FONDLE MY BRAIN!"

But, sickest of all, Harry finally took the sight he had seen of Bellatrix Lestrange earlier into his own brain. She was in his backyard right now, he was sure of it...and it was her voice shrieking, "THE FISH AREN'T MADE LIKE THAT IN AZKABAN!! YEE-HA!"

This could not be good... Clutching his pounding heart, Harry sank to his knees, which smelled like limes too, seeing as how they had become entangled in a pair of boxers with a Golden Snitch over the left cheek. Bellatrix Lestrange, in his _backyard_. Forcing himself to stand up again, a swooping headache soaked his skull and his scar was on fire again. Wincing, Harry closed his eyes and was immediately presented with another vision of Voldemort.

Voldemort was very angry about something...It was something horrible... Something vile. Something had happened and it was not supposed to. They were all standing in a dark room before a fireplace, roughly seven Death Eaters plucking bugs out of each other's body hair in the corner. Voldemort was livid, was raging. Why? He had grown another buttcheek and seemed unable to explain how. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't.

The headache left him as soon as the vision did, and, grabbing at the windowsill to hold himself steady, he pondered why Bellatrix Lestrange would be in his backyard. There was nothing for it. He'd have to go down there himself to see what was going on...

Harry slipped down the staircase quickly and quietly, although he stopped dead in his tracks when the sight of his delirious aunt and uncle met his saucer-wide green eyes.

Petunia was squeezing Vernon's assmeats in time to the bassline of _Without Me_, a rap song by the black white man known as Eminem, who leaves much to be desired. They both happened to be naked; their various articles of clothing were strewn about the otherwise spotless floor. Every time Petunia thrust her strong squeezing motions upon her husband's ass, Vernon would let out a terrible howl and produce a can of Mountain Dew from his violated sphincter.

"That's right! I knew you were hiding something! Oh, hell yes!" shrieked Aunt Petunia, continuing the squeezes.

Harry pivoted on his right foot and flung himself out the back door, wanting more than anything to escape the nightmarish visual behind him. He fell to the ground, screaming hysterically, worming his way forward (so as to get even farther away). He stopped at a pair of feet clad in black boots.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood over him. The carp in the pond behind her were still at the surface, waiting for her to return to them and sing again, not to mention something else.

"Mm, Harry Potter, isn't it?"

"Er..." Harry tried crawling away. He wasn't sure which he favored – almost certain death at the hand of Bella, or another special viewing of his aunt and uncle performing something he was sure would probably be heavily downloaded on the Internet. 

Bellatrix was smiling. What was going to happen?


End file.
